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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661472">If I Fall Back Into You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsWritesFiction/pseuds/CatsWritesFiction'>CatsWritesFiction</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Historical Inaccuracies, Like so OOC, M/M, No betas we die like Seth, Not Canon Compliant, OOC, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Road Trips, Tags May Change, canon inaccuracies, especially fuck, excessive use of swears, i have given up on being serious, i know i already said swears but MAN there is swearing, i still don't know how to tag, minor OCs - Freeform, please take nothing i do seriously, your honour kevin is an obsessive nerd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:08:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsWritesFiction/pseuds/CatsWritesFiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Seth dies and becomes a ghost, and Kevin is the only one who can see him</p>
<p>ON SEMI-HIATUS DUE TO SCHOOL</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kevin Day/Seth Gordon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is my first multi-chapter fic so uh. brace yourselves!</p>
<p>leo i am both sorry and not sorry for this</p>
<p>a special thanks to my beta reader Thee (they're amazing FYI)</p>
<p>WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: there is a scene about seth's death, which includes overdose symptoms and death. please skip the second section if this triggers you</p>
<p>you can find my playlist for this fic <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6oI75W2FpxkLEvsiD6URJf?si=cbBYM1yXSTW0sek8O4d2xg">here!</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Just fuck off!” Seth spits, pushing Kevin away with a hand to the chest. “I’m goin’ fuckin’ bar hopping, and you can’t stop me. I don’t give a fuck about <em> Riko. </em>He can’t do jack shit to me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t understand! Riko <em> will </em> retaliate. He <em> will </em> try to kill someone, and he <em> will </em> succeed!” Kevin’s voice is emphatic as he speaks, arms gesturing wildly. “If you go out tonight, he <em> will </em> kill you. There’s no chance that he won’t.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck off.” Seth’s teeth are gritted as he stands up straight, shoulders tense. “I’ll do what I fuckin’ want, and Riko can fuck off to hell.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t understand—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before Kevin can finish, Seth pushes him up against the wall, hand on his chest. “I understand plenty. It’s you who doesn’t understand shit.” Seth’s eyes are cold and just a bit unhinged as he stares at Kevin, a grim smile on his face. “If you think a little death threat is gonna make me into a wuss, you think wrong. Now back the fuck off. I’ve got places to be.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He leaves his hand on Kevin’s chest for a second longer, feeling the steady beat of his heart. If it startles him that Kevin isn’t scared at all, Seth doesn’t show it, scoffing as he turns on his heel and walks away. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The dim hallway is deadly silent as Seth leaves, each step daring Kevin to chase after him and beg him to stay. “Fuckin’ figures,” Seth mutters as he pulls open the door at the end of the hallway. “Says I should stay, but when it matters, doesn’t chase me down and tell me to.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s only as Seth is shaking on the bathroom floor that he realizes Kevin was right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Riko did come after Seth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kevin warned Seth, and he didn’t listen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>How tragic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Choking back heaves gets harder and harder as Seth’s body starts to give in to whatever drug  Riko’s lackey used. With one last shaky exhale, Seth breathes out two cracked and broken words.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then everything goes black.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The Monsters are at Eden’s when they find out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nicky, go get Kevin.” Andrew’s voice is flat as he snaps his phone shut, putting it down on the table with a little too much force. “I have some news that he might like to know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why?” Nicky asks, getting up nonetheless. “Can’t it wait? I was about to—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No.” Andrew snaps, eyes cold. “Get Kevin. Now.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nicky doesn’t bother to respond, disappearing into the crowd of brightly coloured dancers in search of Kevin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Three tense minutes later, Nicky returns, practically dragging a half-drunk Kevin over to the table. “Here he is!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do you want?” Kevin asks, pushing Nicky’s hand off his arm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andrew looks Kevin in the eyes, tone still cold. “Seth is dead. They’re calling it an overdose.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The world around Kevin becomes blurry, voices and lights fading in and out before snapping together in vivid clarity. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Riko killed him.” Kevin chokes out, sinking to his knees. “I warned him, and he didn’t listen.” His eyes close for a second as he tries to make sense of the world.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is an issue for Kevin to deal with later. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s not going to show the Monsters how much he cared for Seth. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a false confidence in his voice, he stands up, planting his hands on the table. “What about the line-up?”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “You know I fuckin’ hate you, right?” Seth drawls sprawled out on the bed beside Kevin, absolutely no heat in his voice. “Cause I do.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Kevin huffs a laugh, eyes crinkling in happiness. “You’ve only told me this about a thousand times.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “How’d it stick if it didn’t?”  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “It wouldn’t.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “Exactly!” There’s a hint of pride in Seth’s voice as he moves closer to Kevin, skin cold despite the summer heat. “I know you far too well by now!” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Kevin looks away, voice going silent. “Yeah, you do.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The room stills as Seth looks away too, head propped awkwardly on his arm. The silence feels… awkward, to say the least, and Seth shoves any feelings of concern he has for Kevin down. “Get out of your head and kiss me.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> A chuckle comes from Kevin, who sits up and smiles, the loss of his warmth hitting Seth like a punch to the gut. “Kiss me first, why don’t you?” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Now it’s Seth’s turn to sit up and smile, his brown eyes meeting Kevin’s green. “Is that a dare?” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “Maybe it is. What’re you going to do about it?” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Before he lets himself think about it, Seth reaches out and cups Kevin’s face, the touch electrifying as he leans in. “This.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Their lips meet, and the kiss is soft for once. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> If Seth secretly wishes he could live in this moment forever, well, that’s a secret he’ll keep to himself. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Not The Ghost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ghosts are real, and it looks like Seth is now one of them.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so uh. Long time no see? It’s been like four months please I have no excuses<br/>Anyways this chapter is brought to you by MAJOR writers block and also my friends, who have started to abbreviate this fic iffiby even though it’s iifbiy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>August 26, 3:13 am, unknown location</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>~ ~ ~</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Shake off the ghosts that whisper warnings</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Whenever you're not around (You're not around)</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>- Not The Ghost, The Crane Wives</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>~ ~ ~</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“When will he wake, do you think?” a female voice whispers, the ghost it belongs to dropping down from the ceiling of the abandoned warehouse they’re in with a woosh of skirts. “He’s been asleep for longer than any of the past ones.” she leans over a translucent body resting on a cot, poking at its slack face with morbid curiosity.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have patience, Elizabeta,” another ghost admonishes from her spot on the floor, knitting needles clicking together rapidly as a nearly-invisible scarf grows longer and longer. “He’s had a rough go of it, so his body will need longer to process.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Elizabeta pulls a face at the older ghost before flopping onto the floor ungracefully, skirts scattered as ungracefully as her hair. “Do you think he’ll be able to make it, maman?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Only time will tell, my dear,” She sighs heavily, looking at the ever-youthful face of her daughter. “We thought we could, but look where we are now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe he’ll have the nerve to actually—” Elizabeta is cut off by a wild yell, the body on the table thrashing violently. “He wakes,” She whispers to herself more than anything. “Maybe he has a chance.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mother</span>
  <em>
    <span>fucker!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Seth yells, a searing pain burning through his bones, his lungs, his skin, his veins. It hurts worse than anything else ever has, and he wants to claw his skin off so long as it makes the pain go away. “God, make it fuckin’ stop.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello,” a soft voice says from beside him, strands of rich brown hair creeping into his vision. “The pain will stop soon, I think. You’ve had one of the more painful deaths we’ve seen in a while, I’d think.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d think,” Seth spits, raising a shaky hand to his forehead to push his too-long dirty blonde hair out of his face. “I just got fuckin’ nuked by the mafia, of course it’s fuckin’ painful.” His body shakes with the effort of speaking, eyes dilated in agony. The pain comes in waves, each one getting easier to manage. By the fifth wave, he feels good enough to move a little, pushing up into a sitting position. With narrowed eyes, he takes in the warehouse, eyes lingering on the few visible exits. “Where the hell am I?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A safe space,” Elizabeta says, still at his side. “Welcome to the world of the unliving.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The what,” Seth’s voice is cold and unforgiving, rich brown eyes locked on Elizabeta’s. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The world of the unliving. Come now, you have much to learn, and a very short time to learn it in.” She gracefully glides away from him, pausing when he doesn’t follow her. “Did you not hear me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I heard enough. You’re fucking with me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am not trying to do anything but help you. This is a very rough transition for you, and—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up!” Seth yells, eyes closed and fists clenched. “Just—just shut up. I can’t be dead. This is a hallucination.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His brain says, pragmatic as always. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This isn’t a hallucination. You’re dead, and you’re going to rot in hell for your sins.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would give you time to process,” Eliabeta says, eyes soft as she looks at Seth, who’s around a minute away from a confusion-induced outburst, teeth gritting together. “But we have none of that. You’re allowed three days with us before you have to go, and to waste any of that would highly inconvenience you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seth’s voice is tight as he looks up, eyes hard.  “What do you mean, three days?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’d listen instead of getting angry, you’d know already,” The older ghost snaps, putting her knitting down in order to stand and move closer to Seth. “I’m Margaret, and that one is Elizabeta, my daughter.” There’s a hint of pride in her voice as she gestures at Elizabeta, who sinks into a rough and mocking curtsey. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re your guides,” Elizabeta says after straightening, pushing her hair back over her shoulders. “You’re allowed our help for three days, and no more.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don't need your help.” Seth snaps, attempting to push to his feet. Instead of the sharp motion it was intended to be, he falls flat on his ass, hands falling through the cot. It’s a blow to his ego, and he fights the urge to lash out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Elizabeta has a smug look on her face as she leans against a stack of crates in a way that’s both nonchalant and mocking. “Changed your mind yet?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If a glare could kill, the look on Seth’s face would absolutely be capable of it. “Fuck off.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If we did, you would still be dead by the end of the year, and I think that is the last thing you would want.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m dead now. What’s the fucking difference?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t you want to know?” As if she knew how mad she was making Seth, Elizabeta throws a teasing wink his way, walking over to crouch in front of him. “Much to your luck, you have two </span>
  <em>
    <span>incredibly</span>
  </em>
  <span> skilled mentors who would love to help you, if only you would let them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A nasty looking grimace pulls at Seth’s face as he debates the pros and cons of getting help. Some of the more notable points are along the lines of:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Pro: get helped</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Con: get helped</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.” He eventually mutters, expression dark. “But I don't have to like it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You will have to listen,” Margaret says, voice steely. “We are the only chance you have of getting off this Earth, and it would do you some good to recognize that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Elizabeta nods enthusiastically, adding in a tidbit of her own wisdom “The more you fight us, the less you get to learn. Three days is not a long time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Seth thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It isn’t. Three days was nowhere enough time. Not with him. Not with anything.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll listen.” He says rather sullenly, looking anywhere but at the two ghosts. Sitting still and listening has never been his strong suit, especially when it comes to Wymack or Kevin, but he can give it a try, if it’ll get him some answers. “When do we start?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A smile that promises nothing but trouble crosses Elizabeta’s face. “Now. First lesson; how to interact with the objects around you. As you’ve proven, your skill in that is less than ideal.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He glares darkly, but it’s less intimidating than he’d want it to be, considering he’s still flat on his ass on the floor. The floor, after all, is covered in dust, and sitting on it is rather undignified, and not well suited to rage.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A soft snicker, and Elizabeta’s floated closes, hand resting on the cot but not falling through. “You have to focus. It takes energy to touch things, and if you cannot control your focus, you cannot control your energy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My </span>
  <em>
    <span>energy</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Seth sneers, voice full of disdain. “What, you really believe in that shit?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before Elizabeta can even respond, Margaret, who’s now standing at her full height, cutting an imposing figure, smacks him upside the head with a fan. “Do not take that tone,” she lectures, tucking the fan back into her pocket. “You are inexperienced and young—who are you to try and correct those that know more than you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuckin’ crazy, aparently</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He thinks to himself, ego smarting almost as much as the back of his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not my fault I wasn’t fuckin’ told that ghosts were real and that I’d become one.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of responding, he waves a lazy hand at the both of them, staring intensely at his hand and focusing just like Elizabeta said. She didn't say </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> to focus on, just to focus, so he does just that, staring at his hand with narrowed eyes, not blinking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Much to the surprise of everyone in the room, his hand slowly starts to become less translucent, colour starting to return to faded fingers as a startled bark of laughter escapes him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That was fast,” Elizabeta says, eyes wide. “It usually takes much longer than that for our charges to start focusing their energy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well maybe I’m not like the idiots you’ve dealt with before,” Seth brags, a cocky smile on his face as he reaches for the cot. “Not everyone is—</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” a startled yell escapes him just as his hand touches the cot, which is both freezing cold and burning hot under his fingers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We have our work cut out for us, don’t we maman?” Elizabeta sighs, watching as Seth lets out a string of particularly foul curses, glaring at his hand, which has gone transparent again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Better us than anyone else, my daughter. Better us than anyone else.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~~~~~~~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So how does this whole ghost thing fuckin’ work?” Seth asks a day later, carefully passing an old rubber ball from hand to hand, making sure to keep his hands tangible. Focusing his energy is harder than he thought it’d be, and it took him most of the first night to be able to even attempt to touch objects. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It turns out that an intangible ghost touching real, tangible objects hurts like a motherfucker, due to the “realm difference” or whatever Margaret called it. Because the object is </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the ghost isn’t—whatever that means—there’s a sensory </span>
  <em>
    <span>discharge</span>
  </em>
  <span>, for lack of better words, that essentially sets all of Seth’s non-existent ghost nerves on fire.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s weird, but since he has a relatively high pain tolerance, he can get used to it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s a lot of history behind it all,” Margaret says, back to sitting against the wall and knitting. “But neither you nor I have the patience for it all to be explained, so I’ll give you the bare essentials. Elizabeta can cover the rest, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>From somewhere off in the distance, there’s a loud crashing, and then Elizabeta yells back. “Whatever you say maman!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A soft huff, and Margaret is hiding a smile as she mutters to herself. “That child will be the death of me one day. Where was I again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Seth scoffs, winding up to whip the ball at the wall, snickering as it makes a very solid </span>
  <em>
    <span>thwack,</span>
  </em>
  <span> passing through his head on the rebound. “I’m not keepin’ track of your shit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Manners!” She reprimands, shaking a mass of knitted fabric at him, hands surprisingly steady. “Did nobody ever tell you to respect your elders?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What fuckin elders?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head in disapproval to mask the slight pang of sympathy resonating in her chest. “That would be me, now.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>A roll of his eyes, and Seth bows mockingly, picking up another ball from the pile near his feet. “Fine. You said somethin’ about this bein’ ‘cause I got killed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah yes, that. When one is killed in a planned attack, they become a ghost. The ghost then has one year to either kill or make peace with their killer. If they fail to do either of the above, then they get stuck on Earth forever, like Elizabeta and I are. You seem strong enough to go through with either of the two options.” with a soft huff, she pushes to her feet, walking over to Seth and resting a hand on his shoulder. “What did they look like, your killer? You should know everything about them, now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seth closes his eyes, searching his memories, but all that comes to him is a heavy hand on his shoulder, the prick of a needle, and a vaguely familiar cold laugh. He clenches his jaw, forcibly replaying every single fateful second in hopes that </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> will register.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But nothing does.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He was my height,” is what Seth finally pushes through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed. “Big hands.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What else?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing I wanna share with </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” he spits defensively, throat tightening at the thought of even admitting that he doesn’t know, because that means </span>
  <em>
    <span>weakness, and weakness means every vile thing ever done or said to him suddenly has purchase; has a chance to break him down. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Arrogance and anger can only hide so much, and weakness is one of the few things they struggle to cover up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Margaret shakes her head, but doesn’t push, understanding the unspoken boundary. “That’s fine. Do you want to learn any more, or would you rather go work on interaction?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sees the question for the escape it is, and gladly takes it. “Interaction. Fuck this learnin’ shit, I wanna get hands-on.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then hands-on you shall get,” she says, turning away and walking off towards where Elizabeta is bumping around, the occasional laugh echoing through the warehouse. “Come along now, there’s still much for you to learn.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Begrudgingly, he follows along, ignoring any attempts at small-talk.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~~~~~~~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s sunrise on his third and final day with the ghosts when Seth realizes just how alone he’s about to be. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The journey to find his killer is his and his alone, and for some reason, the thought chills him to the bone. Or, at least, where his bones would be, if he wasn’t essentially a bunch of translucent energy in the shape of his old body.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s one more thing I forgot to tell you,” Margaret says, walking with him to the warehouse doors. “You won’t be completely alone on your journey.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well motherfuckin’ fuck him, it’s like the old woman could read his damn mind. A thank you would be what most other people would say, but this is Seth, and what he ends up saying is some garbled mix of “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What the motherfucking fuck do you mean,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> and “</span>
  <em>
    <span>why the fuck didn’t you </span>
  </em>
  <span>tell me,</span>
  <em>
    <span> god-fucking damnit!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks at him once, clearly unimpressed. “Do you care to repeat that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To repeat it would be to flirt with death—how one flirts with death when they’re already dead is a mystery to Seth, mind you—so he doesn't, instead looking at the ground and muttering something under his breath.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what I thought. Now grab my hand, we have places to be.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Begrudgingly, he does, making his hand just tangible enough to grip hers before being whisked away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After what could have been hours, but only feels like minutes with how fast Margaret is moving, the surroundings are getting more and more familiar. When they finally touch down, Seth whirls on Margaret, finger pointed at her face.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are we at fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Palmetto</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all places?” he spits, eyes wide. “What, are you trying to rub it in my face that </span>
  <em>
    <span>nobody fucking cares that I died?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Breathe, young one,” she says, calmly stepping around his arm. “There is a reason why you’re here, and you’ll find out, provided you listen.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fuckin’ listening, so spill.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like I said earlier, you won’t be alone. The person you cared about the most while you were living will be able to see you, and they can help you on your journey. Your person just so happens to be here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What, fuckin’ Allison?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t want her prissy ass around me. She’ll make things harder than they need to be.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not her,” Elizabeta pipes in, rather cheerfully, “Someone else!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. Oh no.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he says, with passion. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The only person he was remotely close to besides Allison was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kevin, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the last thing he said to Kevin was a glorified ‘fuck off’.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there any way I can leave this campus without having to see him? There is? Great. See ya never, best of luck with the next fuck you get—” he tries to walk away, only to be stopped by Margaret’s hand grabbing his collar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare walk away,” she says, voice cold. “He is the last link to life you have, and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> need his help. I don’t care how you feel about him now, you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>going</span>
  </em>
  <span> to talk to him at least once before you go.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seth pulls a face, head moving back and forth as he mocks her. “Fine. I’ll talk to him, but I don’t have to fuckin’ like it. Is that all?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Almost all of it. Elizabeta would like to speak to you privately, as would I.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nods, letting Elizabeta pull him aside, stiffening when she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Best of luck,” she whispers when she lets go, looking up at him. “I hope you succeed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So do I, kid,” he mutters, voice softer than he’d like as he turns and heads over to Margaret. “So do I.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stops in front of her, gesturing impatiently for her to do something.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” she finally says, pulling him into a tight hug. “Weak link or no, you didn’t deserve this.”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s an awkward silence, Seth’s inexperience with this kind of scenario showing. “I’m used to it,” he finally says, melting into the hug. “Foxes never get what they deserve, and it would have been stupid of me to even think otherwise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe this time around, you’ll get it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Said like a real non-Fox. Whatever the opposite of fuck you, is I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you?” Margaret supplies amusedly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that. See you never again, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“See you never it is. Best of luck, Seth.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With that, she grabs Elizabeta’s hand, the both of them vanishing and leaving Seth alone.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<span>And so, with a deep breath and a muttered </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘fuck”</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Seth Gordon re-enters Fox tower for the first time since his death.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you all for reading!! I make no promises as to when the next chapter will be out, but I hope it'll be soon!</p>
<p>as always, if you want to scream at me on tumblr, you can find me <a href="https://whatareyoudoingwithamaserati.tumblr.com/">here!</a><br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Goner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Seth and Kevin meet for the first time since Seth's death</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HI hello this chapter was brought to you by procrastination and my unhealthy coping mechanisms of withdrawing from the world to write!</p>
<p>Also i have never heard of consistency a day in my life so</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>August 29, 8: 28 pm, Fox Tower</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>~ ~ ~</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Though I'm weak and beaten down</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>I'll slip away into this sound</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>The ghost of you is close to me</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>I'm inside-out, you're underneath</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>- Goner, Twenty One Pilots</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>~ ~ ~</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With Seth’s untimely death—</span>
  <em>
    <span>murder, the Foxes tell themselves, there’s no way it wasn’t a murder</span>
  </em>
  <span>—the Foxes have been knocked out of this year’s season. The ERC’s rules had gotten tighter this year, making the minimum number of players ten, rather than nine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If it were possible, the news knocked the team’s spirits down even lower. It’s like going from the gutter to the sewers—losing a part of the team, however assholish he may have been, and then losing any chance there is at playing the sport he died playing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Out of the entire team, the news seems to have hit Kevin the hardest, his obsession only doubling in strength as he vainly tries to get everyone on the court, to get them to be better, stronger, faster.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To get them to fill the emptiness left behind with exy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But the court is a bittersweet solace, every inch of the arena filled with hollow memories that bury themselves beneath skin, turning bones to heavy weights, and filling eyes with barely held-back tears. Everything is falling apart faster than they can hold it together, and it’s what leads to Kevin locking himself in his room every night, silently trying to stitch himself back together with patches made of the few good memories he had with Seth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He’s obsessing too much over this,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he hears the other Foxes whisper to each other, the words bouncing off hollow walls. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s unhealthy, this is going to turn into another exy-level issue.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kevin ignores them all, keeping to his room whenever he’s not on the court. It’s only been three days, but it feels like forever, time slowed down by tears that refuse to fall.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s late, because it’s always late, the sun just starting to drop below the horizon, leaving nothing but darkness, and it’s cold, because it’s always cold, the absence of Seth’s harsh laughter and foul language leaving the dorm </span>
  <em>
    <span>quiet, far too quiet.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s late, and it’s cold, and it’s quiet, and that’s exactly why Kevin nearly has a heart attack when he turns around and sees Seth standing in front of him, looking exactly as though he never died, albeit on the see-through side.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he whispers more to himself than anything. “No. This is—you aren’t—no.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Still trippin, over your words, I see,” Seth observes, face impassive, because this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kevin. </span>
  </em>
  <span>This is Kevin, who starts to slur his words into each other when he gets too excited, who chokes on the sentences always stuck in his throat and tries to wash them away with the burn of alcohol—alcohol he hasn’t touched since Seth told him to try and handle his problems in a way that </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>kill him through liver poisoning. This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kevin, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the awkward silence that fills the room is about to kill Seth a second time, it’s that painful.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shell struck and voice flat, Kevin responds, “This isn’t real. It can’t be.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno, it feels pretty damn fuckin’ real to me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” There’s a brittle tone to the word, followed by Kevin turning away from Seth, hands gripping his hair. “No, no, no. This is not—you’re not here. This is a hallucination.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can hallucinations do this?” Seth focuses his energy and reaches for Kevin, snarling when his hand passes through his shoulder instead of making contact. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fuckin’ shitballs asshat bitchass fucknugget of a dead fuckin’ ghost body.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An awkward silence passes as Seth glares angrily at his hand, Kevin staunchly refusing to look anywhere but the wall across from him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s broken only by Kevin sighing heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose where glasses should sit, if he ever bothered to wear them. “No hallucination would be able to replicate </span>
  <em>
    <span>that.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A gift, isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s one word for it. Do you want to explain what's going on so I can go back to pretending this never happened?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seth rolls his eyes, gesturing towards the bed. “Should’ve figured you’d say that. Sit your ass down and give me a sec to figure out what the fuck just happened to my hand.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It passed through me,” Kevin quips, walking over to the bed on shaky legs, still struggling to process that Seth is somehow </span>
  <em>
    <span>miraculously</span>
  </em>
  <span> in front of him, seeming to be all in one piece. “Was it not supposed to?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Was it not supposed—of course it wasn't supposed to!” Seth yells, arms thrown wide. “I may have only had three days to master this shit, but I made sure to fuckin’ master it. It can’t just stop working on me now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Back up,” Kevin says, mind whirring as he processes everything Seth’s been saying. “You’re saying you’re not a hallucination, but you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead, you’re a </span>
  </em>
  <span>ghost</span>
  <em>
    <span>, and you’re really here in front of me right now?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ye—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold on, hold on, hold on, I’m not done yet. While you may be here, it doesn’t seem like you can touch me, so it is safe to assume you can’t touch other objects? If you can, would it be more of a conscious choice, or an involuntary one? Can you walk through walls or make things levitate? Did you gain any telekinetic abilities, or. . . “ he trails off, earlier distress pushed to the side by curiosity and a burning need to figure out the logic—can it be called logic if ghosts aren’t really logical?—behind everything.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seth scoffs, shaking his head as he walks over to Kevin, who’s counting on his fingers as if he could decipher the supernatural with them. “Slow your fuckin’ roll, you nerd. I’ve only been a ghost for three days, </span>
  <span>I barely know shit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But you do know something, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” he rolls his eyes as Kevin’s head snaps up, eyes locking on Seth’s. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, I can’t solve all the mysteries of the world with you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You could, if you wanted to.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A scoff, and Seth changes the topic quickly, not letting himself stop and think about anything beyond his goal. “Doesn’t matter. Now do you want to find out why you can see me or not?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I do; why can I?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a split second where what Margaret said flashes through Seth’s head, reminding him that he cared the most for Kevin while he was living, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn if that isn’t the most sentimental garbage he’s ever heard.</span>
  </em>
  <span> So, as any emotion-allergic asshole would do, he opens his mouth and lies, “‘Cause you were the last person I argued with. Nothing much.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Well. That. . . makes a surprising amount of sense. It’s probably to try and get you to mend whatever was hurt in the argument and give both parties closure.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s what they said.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They?” Kevin asks curiously, tipping his head to the side and wrinkling his nose. “Did you meet anyone else—can anyone else see you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, the rest of the Foxes can see me,” he drawls sarcastically, waving his arm around and snickering when it looks like Kevin believes him. “Of course they can’t, dipshit, there were two ghosts that gave me the rundown on everything. I’ve got a quest or an adventure or some kind of fantasy bullshit to go on.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What kind of task do you have to complete? Maybe I can help you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An awkward pause as Seth debates telling him versus not telling him, the clearest points being that a) if he told Kevin, he would want to tag along, and that would be inconvenient as all hell considering the awkward feelings between them that are practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>bound</span>
  </em>
  <span> to come up, and b) that if he doesn’t tell Kevin, his life is about to get a lot more annoying, because once Kevin sets his mind on something, everyone is fucked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That’s why, in the driest possible tone of voice, he ends up saying, “That’s classified information, captain.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A look that somehow manages to be both shocked and amused filters across Kevin’s face, mouth falling open. “You just—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Kevin!” Nicky shouts from outside the door. “Are you okay? The whole damn dorm can hear you talking to yourself and it’s getting kinda concerning.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seth cackles wildly as Kevin makes a strangled noise, eyes wide. “Yeah, sorry, Nicky. I was just—reenacting something for history. Helps you learn better.”  hissing beneath his breath something about ‘ Seth shutting up and not making the others think he’s even more unstable than they already do.’</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mockingly, Seth flips him off, but settles down, poking around Kevin’s dresser for the fidget toy he bought and snuck in there ages ago. It’s not where he usually keeps it, which means that Kevin must have used it at some point, despite his insistence that it was unnecessary. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Take fuckin’ that! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Seth thinks, trying a different drawer. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m never fuckin’ wrong. Told the bastard it would come in handy.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re looking for the thing, it’s on top of my bookshelf,” Kevin murmurs surprisingly close to Seth, voice quiet to keep from alerting Nicky or anyone else. “Got bored one day.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And so you put it on the fuckin’ bookshelf?” he says, walking over to said shelf, noting the collection of books, most of them on history, with a few touching on unsolved mysteries, cars, and surprisingly enough, music.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why wouldn’t I? The dresser is hardly a place for things that aren’t clothes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re insufferable,” Seth says, focusing on turning his hand tangible and grabbing the toy, the fiery sting of contact barely noticeable. Dropping it on the cluttered desk beside the shelves, he turns around and bows with a flourish. “There we go. Now what was it you were gonna say before Nicky interrupted us?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I—it’s nothing. When do you have to leave for your thing?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Soon as possible, probably. Only got a year to get it done.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a long pause before Kevin responds, looking away slightly and ducking his head. “. . . I see. Do you at least want to see everyone and come to one more practice before you go?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’d really be no harm in doing so, if Seth is honest with himself. He’ll be gone soon enough, and one last moment of nostalgia won’t hurt anyone but himself. “Yeah, fine. Tonight or tomorrow?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tonight, I think. It depends on if I can get everyone else to agree to it. They haven’t wanted to be on the court since. .   you know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You mean my death,” Seth states flatly, looking unimpressed. “You don’t have to dance around it. I’m over it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kevin nods in response, both him and Seth falling silent as they sit with the statement. It’s not inherently wrong, but somehow it makes the feeling worse; the acknowledgment that Seth is still dead, still a ghost. There’s no real way to be over something when every second you not-stand and not-breathe is a vivid reminder that </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, you are in fact dead.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’s my phone?” Seth eventually asks, grimacing at the tension that’s taking over the room. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t talk about death unless you want things to get weird, noted.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Allison has it. The police decided that as your last girlfriend, she had a right to it.” Kind of an odd thing for police to do, but when have the bastards ever done anything that makes sense?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dope,” he says, popping the p in a way that seems careless but is secretly well-practiced. “Be right back.” And with that, Seth walks right through the door, reappearing a few minutes later with his phone in hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you really just do that?” Kevin asks dryly, now equipped with a notebook that he’s scribbling in. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you did, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I didn’t expect you to go as low as stealing from your girlfriend.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well fuck off,” he sneers, fiddling with the battered case. “It’s not stealing if it’s mine, and Allison isn’t my damn girlfriend.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then what is she?” Kevin sounds lightly curious, clicking the pen closed and twirling it around over his fingers. “When we weren’t—</span>
  <em>
    <span>you know</span>
  </em>
  <span>—you two seemed attached at the hip.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ah Kevin, always dancing around the topics that are too personal for him to acknowledge.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She called it a QPR. Told her I didn’t feel shit so she did some research and ended up with aroace and QPRs. In the end it doesn’t matter, ‘cause I’m here.” he waves a hand through his figure for emphasis, staunchly ignoring how the label of aroace made him feel at home in his body for once, gave him a word to explain his experiences.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” there’s a pause as Kevin tries to figure out what to say in response. “I’m greyromantic bisexual?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good to know. Now are you gonna get practice set up for old times sake or what?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do it, just give me a couple of minutes to get everyone ready.” With that, Kevin walks off, a man on a mission once more.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>True to his word, he gets a night practice running through the sheer power of empty threats, intimidation, and one very stubborn Wymack, who’d rather his team run themselves halfway to death rather than mope around.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s bittersweet in a way, Seth watching the teammates he couldn’t give a shit about playing the sport he only enjoyed when it got violent. Everything about the court is the same, but it’s quieter now, rivalries and pecking order laid to rest now that the biggest instigator is gone. He doesn’t regret a thing about what he did when he lived, which is exactly why he decides to start rudely commentating on the practice from his spot in the stands.  Highlights include him cussing out Neil for even daring to take his place, wolf-whistling at Allison every time she scores on Renee, and heckling Kevin to hell and back because for once there’s no consequence at all. “Can’t run extra laps when you’re DEAD, Kevin!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To Kevin’s credit, he doesn’t let it affect him too much, only getting distracted a few times but quickly getting refocused before the other Foxes notice. Or so he thinks. Near the end of the practice, Allison pulls him aside, Seth watching carefully from above.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen,” she says, voice wavering slightly. “I know Seth’s death hit you like a goddamn truck, much like it did me, but we’re all concerned for you. Even I haven’t been as isolated as you, and Nicky’s said he could hear you muttering to yourself about Seth. Hell, even this practice it looked like you were trying to talk to him. You need to take a break. Go see Bee or some shit, whatever helps you get over yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to worry about me,” Kevin says, voice surprisingly solid as he pushes his sweaty hair away from his face. “I’m perfectly fine. You, on the other hand, need to watch your side. You keep leaving it open and expecting one of us to cover it when we’re already stretched thin.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, whatever.” She rolls her eyes, stalking off. “I don’t know why I ever bothered to think you cared. Visit Bee, don’t, I don’t care.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn,” Seth whispers into Kevin’s ear, having snuck up on him sometime through his exy rant. “You really gotta fuck up to get her lookin’ like that. Even I’ve only done that once or twice.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The suddenness of Seth’s arrival causes Kevin to jump a little, but he hides it as best as he can, shifting his racquet from hand to hand. “I guess you’re going now, aren’t you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess I am.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Great.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kevin looks anywhere but at Seth, starting to pick up stray exy balls. “Have fun?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure. LIke finding my killer is supposed to be fun.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And that is when Seth knows he’s fucked up. Bad. if there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing he was supposed to hide from Kevin, it was that—aside from the whole ‘person he cared about the most’ bullshit—and yet he still failed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, you’re supposed to find your—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope!” He cuts Kevin off, voice full of mocking cheer. “You heard nothing! Goodbye Day, y’all fucks—” he gestures at the vague team huddle across the court before starting to walk away from Kevin, “And Palmetto. See ya never again!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s just made it outside the court when Kevin bursts out the doors after him, reaching for a shoulder he can never touch. “Seth, wait!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want?” He snaps, stepping out of Kevin’s path purely out of habit. “Now you know what I’m doing, your curiosity should be satisfied.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I—” he stops, trying to figure out the right words to say; the words that’ll keep Seth from disappearing without a trace. “I want to come with.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Come with. Even if you won’t let me help you, let me tag along. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of mysteries and music hotspots for me to poke around at. It could be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” His eyes are wide now, hands making small gestures as he talks. “There’s more than enough stuff in South Carolina for me to look at.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t—” Seth grimaces. Having Kevin join him </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> be really helpful, not to mention give him some company, but Kevin is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kevin,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Seth is still the man who doesn’t want anything to do with the remnants of feeling that Kevin sparks. After some mental gymnastics, he finally mutters, “Fine. I could use your help anyways.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, really. Get your shit together, we’re gone by tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>special shoutout to a clemson sun chart i found online due to unnecessary research and a need to make sure that things were somewhat accurate, and also my south carolina mystery research which will leave me sleepless tonight because murder mysteries scare the living shit out of me </p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so that was that! uhhhhhh ive always been bad at end notes n shit but!!! if you wanna come screech at me, my tumblr is <a href="https://whatareyoudoingwithamaserati.tumblr.com/">here!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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